


Natural Fissures

by happychica



Series: A Crystal Hewn From Stone [2]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angry friends, Character Study, Dissociation, F/M, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Intense Hurt/Mostly Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Realistic Depiction of Self-Harm, Realistic Depiction of a Mental Health Crisis, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29685819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happychica/pseuds/happychica
Summary: The necessities, the demands, and the endless pressure that is war finally crack the foundation that is Commander Shepard.  Forced to face his demons, John is reminded once again that the people he fights for are willing to defend him, even from himself.
Relationships: EDI/Jeff "Joker" Moreau, Garrus Vakarian/Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard
Series: A Crystal Hewn From Stone [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148366
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My Beta was the most awesome [nwfairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nwfairy).
> 
> The first two chapters contain graphic depictions of self-harm and a severe mental breakdown. The story in general contains discussions of self-harm, suicide, and depression.

_The screams echoed around him. The sound of dragging bodies, heavy breathing, scrambling and crying as the futility set in. The white and black uniforms were stark in their absence, his crew gone, taken. Moving toward the cockpit, the chairs empty on either side, the sounds of pressure seals failing. The cold of space creeping in as he banged on the door._

_“Joker! Get out of there!”_

_An indistinct response. A scream that climbed in pitch until it hurt his ears. There were no Banshees on the Normandy._

_“Commander, hurry, we can’t wait much longer!”_

_Joker’s voice from behind him – he must have made it to the escape pod after all. Turning back, the CIC stretched before him. He ran toward the elevator, the galaxy map suddenly behind him._

_The screams were back, but different. Liara’s shriek morphing into a high-pitched wail, echoing through the ship. Shouts of surprise from James, then gunfire. Other voices, all around him as he stumbled forward into the cargo bay. A gaping hole in the side of the Normandy, angry red light streaming in from outside._

_Lurching forward, he stared out at the broken ships that blocked out the stars. Turian, Human, Geth. A resounding bass thrum as the red light changed, a child’s laugh, the Citadel surrounded by hulking black shadows._

_“Shepard!”_

_He spun, catching his reflection on the side of the Hammerhead. Red eyes, red like the light from outside, tracing down his cheeks. He opened his mouth and the red light spilled out, the low screech of a Husk escaping as he lifted the gun that was now his arm. The hull cracked as he focused on Joker, reaching for him inside that escape pod, screaming –_

John jerked as the datapad hit the deck. Blue light filled his vision, replacing the red that had been there. A deep, gasping breath as he looked around. Bubbles from the fish, the Normandy’s hum, the temperature a comfortable cool.

Collapsing back into his chair, John exhaled. He ran a hand over his face, muttering to himself in reassurance. “Joker’s fine. They’re all fine.” He ignored the slight tremble in his hand as it dropped back to the arm of the chair.

The last week had been running from Cerberus base to Cerberus abduction, and he’d gotten so behind on the mundanities of command. He’d been determined to get through at least a dozen reports tonight; instead, he’d fallen asleep at his desk instead of in their bed.

He could see a shadow of his reflection on the glass cases that held the model ships Tali had such fun building. The Geth dreadnought, the Alliance cruiser, the Turian single-pilot flyer. The lights of the fish tank were reflecting oddly off them tonight, highlighting oranges marks he hadn’t noticed before. Leaning forward, John froze when the marks moved.

Not marks. The reflection was from him.

John reached up to feel his chin. The scar there had never gone away, not since he’d woken up in that Cerberus lab. As he ran his fingers over it, he wondered again why the skin didn’t feel more disturbed. Why it didn’t feel like a wound or a proper scar. He wondered yet again what upgrades he didn’t know about. Miranda swore they’d brought him back as close to John Shepard as possible, but it wasn’t like the Illusive Man to waste an opportunity. Why not better memory? Aim and accuracy? A little more ruthless and efficient? Less inclined to crack under pressure?

And John could feel the cracks. Thin ones from forgetting to swing by for lunch with his friends. Fissures where pressure built as he faked his way through yet another encouraging interview. Casums as he marched off to answer Hackett’s call, failing yet again to have new information or a spark of hope.

He didn’t know how the others kept going - the reports and the vid calls and the politicians and it never stopped. Victus, for all his stoic concern, had taken to the job of Primarch without more than a moment’s hesitation. How Wrex had come to be the head of Clan Urdnot, let alone leader of the Krogan, had never been discussed. Anderson stayed on Earth without a second thought, ordering his best chance at surviving the next week away with confidence and certainty.

John had enlisted of his own freewill. It seemed the best way out of the Reds. It was naïve to think he’d be able to keep people safe in a life that was inherently dangerous. The boss had tolerated John’s need to look after the young ones and the working girls for far longer than anyone expected. It was borderline insubordination, depriving the Reds of that kind of income, changing the dynamics by preventing the traditional hazing, risking split loyalties of new members. And then things had come to a head and he’d needed a way out, no matter who he left behind. They’d told him to go, told him he was worth saving, and knowing he agreed with them was worse than imagining the things that were about to change without him there to hold the line.

It hadn’t mattered before. A soldier, good at his job, who rose through the ranks because he didn’t complain when things got hard. Taking the extra training because it meant he could do more, do better. Meant he could keep more people safe. Making the hard choices and learning to sleep on his guilt instead of turning to drink or company every time they had shore leave. And then he’d died. Frightened as he’d been, gasping for Joker to “shut the damn door”, it had just been the end. Everyone dies.

But he hadn’t. Somehow, he hadn’t. Four billion credits just to get him to feasible, Cerberus hadn’t even blinked as they dragged him back to life. Supposedly. If anything the Illusive Man ever did could be trusted. Because the Great Commander Shepard was a bloody icon, xenophobic claims and all, who could bring anyone together, get anything done. Who reappeared after two years, like the fabled King Arthur driving back the darkness at the edge of his realm. Science must have been able to explain what happened – Miranda wasn’t the sort to tolerate anything less – but nothing explained how there was anything left to save. People are more than flesh and electrical impulses. Suffocating, freezing, plummeting through an atmosphere – any one of those things was enough to kill a man. And yet…

The pad had powered down long ago. John couldn’t remember what he’d been reading before this morbid train of thoughts got the better of him. It’d been a long few days – a long, miserable few years in some ways – and it was just getting to him. He’d been pushing himself to stay awake until Kaidan’s shift was done, but it wasn’t working. He’d just have to risk the nightmares tonight.

Pushing back from the desk, John dropped the pad back onto the stack of things he’d need to read over and sign the next day. His head was starting to hurt from exhaustion, a nasty pulling around his eyes as he stood and made his way to the bathroom. He debated a shower, but he really was too tired; he’d brush his teeth and deal with the rest tomorrow.

Grabbing his bag of toiletries from the shelves, John stepped in front of the sink. The lights were still dimmed from Kaidan’s migraine yesterday and it threw his scars into stark relief. Cutting along his chin, bisecting one check bone, perched on his right eyebrow. They glowed red, brighter than he’d seen since he’d surrendered himself to the Alliance. 

John remembered how some of the soldiers had tried to be polite; others had stared openly at his face and arms while he was handcuffed. He remembered the Alliance brass asking question after question, and he hadn’t known what to say. He remembered being introduced to Lieutenant James Vega, the look of disgust on the younger man’s face at the inhumanity those scars represented. 

John couldn’t fault him. He’d asked Chakwas more than once why his scars weren’t healing. Skin healed; it was a unique element to human physiology that it healed as well as it did. And yet John’s scars not only persisted, they changed based on his mood. Like the worst possible evolution of Tina’s mood ring obsession or Anna’s compulsive need to dye her hair. Maybe the universe thought he’d forgotten about his choices, gotten too comfortable with his guilt. Easier to behave with your sins woven into your skin.

Setting his bag on the counter, John reached for his shirt collar, pulling it slowly, reluctantly over his head. The scars were everywhere, and they lit up his skin like something was peering through. Illogically placed lines that appeared at random down his arms. The one on his left shoulder had reopened in the last few days. John’s eyes tracked down to his chest, choking at the reminder. Two scars started at his shoulders, tracking down to meet in the center of his chest before continuing south. Autopsies hadn’t changed over the centuries; even Cerberus didn’t think the technique needed improvement. The evidence was carved into John’s chest, glowing faintly.

No reason to fake scars like that. No reason to put those marks on a living person. Those were marks worn only by the dead. And the dead should stay dead.

Head dropping to the sink, John retched. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, for which he was suddenly grateful. Four billion credits was enough wasted supplies on his unnatural state; no need to cost the Alliance precious resources on a walking corpse. If he counted as even that. He didn’t count as dead anymore – he’d seen the paperwork that reinstated him among the living. But he bore the marks of death, angry red light bleeding out from the proof that he wasn’t supposed to be here.

But if he wasn’t dead and he wasn’t alive, then how the hell could he be John Shepard? John Shepard was a person, even with all the lies, who did things and knew people and made choices. But a person was alive, by the very definition of things, and living things healed. It wasn’t a scar if it was in the process of healing, it was just a wound. And since it wasn’t a wound, and it wasn’t healing, what did that make these things?

“Seams.” The edges of something pieced together to cover up what was inside. The red light was showing through where the pieces didn’t quite fit or, according to Chakwas, he’d managed to apply too much pressure. Been too rough, too callous, too inhuman to keep the cover intact. He bit back on the hysterical sound clogging his throat. A cover, not just to fool the galaxy, but to fool him.

John looked up at his reflection. The light was brighter now, more visible in the half darkness of the room. What had Cerberus been thinking? Was this half-finished thing really worth billions of credits? They couldn’t find any other way to get what they wanted from the Collectors? And they were just going to let this thing wander away from them.

A tool. An agent with a singular purpose.

Gripping the edge of the counter, he tried to breathe. The Illusive Man might have a dozen reasons for wanting Commander Shepard back and in his debt, but he’d have no use for John. And either option was too valuable a resource to just let go. So why let John surrender to the Alliance? Why not have Miranda shoot him on the way out of the Collector base, crash the SR2 with a convenient lack of survivors?

The Alliance thought they had their hero back. This walking science project that talked and walked but wasn’t quite right. Anderson trusted him. Hackett put him in charge. The Illusive Man didn’t need to fight the Alliance, because at some point they’d realize they’d placed all their bets on some _thing_ that couldn’t possibly be trusted. Couldn’t possibly be human.

Pushing himself back up, John studied the face in the mirror. He didn’t feel like a thing, he felt like himself. Not that Cerberus would program a replacement that thought it wasn’t Shepard, but how much could they really do? Could they fool Chakwas’ scans? Give him patience for Joker’s nonsense? Hide from Liara’s informants? Could Miranda keep up the lie for this long? Wouldn’t Mordin have noticed?

Whatever he was, he was all they had. He’d have to be enough. John rubbed at his shoulder, the old nervous habit a small comfort. As he tried to relax, he let his hand drift down, past the marks on his chest. Marks that would be hidden by his shirt, whatever they might mean.

Except when they weren’t. Except when he slept without a shirt because he only wore the sleep pants he’d requisitioned. Except when Kaidan came upstairs, tired but somehow always optimistic about the grand scheme. When the man he loved gave him that slow grin and reached out to touch –

John jerked, knocking his bag to the ground, the clacks and pings of items hitting the floor pulling his gaze downwards. He stared at, not really seeing anything. With an effort, he focused, gaze catching on his old pocketknife.

Obsolete in the Alliance, it had been a gift from Ryan. John had pulled his ass out of half a dozen messes before the kid decided he’d rather run for the Reds than try for thug status. It hadn’t saved him, in the end, and even if it had, John’s leaving had screwed over a lot of people.

Slowly, he bent over and picked it up. It wasn’t big, but it was sharp. The cloudy green handle looked black in the half-light, the grey metal casing standing out more than usual. A crack ran down one side of it, from when John had dropped the thing off the roof of a two-story building in an attempt to stop a fight from escalating. The manufacturer’s logo had long since worn off - too many nights running his thumb over the folded knife in his pocket. John pulled open the blade, remembering.

He’d been so damn happy when Kaidan kissed him. Crawled into his lap, ignoring John’s babbled attempts to explain why working together didn’t have to change just because Kaidan knew how he felt, and silenced him the best possible way. He’d loved everything since, all of it, even the missteps as they learned how to do this together.

He couldn’t face Kaidan again until he knew what Cerberus had brought back. If Kaidan had been fucking a monster, he had the right to know. To be disgusted. To leave –

Gripping his chin, John pulled on his cheek, forcing the scar open just a bit wider. The blade slid along the edge, not quite catching under the skin. Holding the point at his cheek bone, he took a deep breath, and shoved.

The pain was horrendous. He remembered now how much this had hurt the last time he’d tried, ripping away at his face with his bare hands. This was worse, because he wasn’t just scratching the surface.

But pain meant nothing. EDI had receptors that could stimulate all sorts of things. He didn’t really know what his implants did - maybe nothing he felt was real.

Keeping the skin pulled tight, he wiggled the knife back and forth, trying to widen the opening he’d made. It didn’t seem to be doing much. With a gasp, he tilted the blade,  
pushing down to slide underneath the skin, prying it loose from the muscles below.

With a scream, he tore the blade out. John clutched at his cheek, gasping and whining at the sensations. This wasn’t going to work. This was stupid. Tali would be so angry when she found out he’d tried, again.

Because he’d worried about this before. And they’d talked him down. How had they talked him down?

Looking at the mirror, John watched the blood trailing down his cheek, a line of it following his hand to his wrist instead. Wide blue eyes looked over the arm, afraid. Under the arm, where the blood dripped, the scars looked worse than before. That horrid Y that meant they’d opened him and up done…what?

Nothing he had in his room would get through his chest muscles. He couldn’t risk damaging his hands, so it would have to be his face this time, too. If he wanted to be sure what was under all this effort to look human, he’d just have to jam it in there and pry the damn things open.

“They’re seams,” he whispered, eyes wide and watching. Taking hold of his face once more, John traced the scar. “Time to see what you’re made of.”

* * *

It was later than Kaidan wanted to think about. Things had been so hectic after Rannoch – the uptick in missions from Hackett, Cerberus pushing attacks on civilians, unnerving rumors about Sanctuary starting to gather weight. Everyone had been pulling longer shifts, trying to get a handle on things without losing their minds. Finally, Chakwas had all but ordered Shepard to find a way to return the shift schedule to normal. “War or not, people need rest, Commander.” Shepard had agreed, even as he continued to push himself harder still.

Not that Kaidan blamed him. John’s nightmares had been getting worse, keeping the man from even attempting sleep unless Kaidan was there. Wrapping himself around the biotic didn’t stop them, but John woke sooner and with less panic in his face with Kaidan in his arms. And it’s not like it was uncomfortable, being held like he mattered by the man he loved. Kaidan smiled to himself as the elevator doors opened to reveal the Cabin level.

He’d started on the uniform buckles before the cabin door had even opened. Catching the heel of one boot with the toe of the other, he wiggled his foot to loosen its grip. Kaidan huffed as he lost his balance, catching himself with a hand on the glass, spooking a bright yellow fish. He looked around, faintly embarrassed.

“John?”

Kaidan’s smile dimmed at the silence. He stepped down the stairs and leaned down to pull the boot off entirely. The bed was empty.

“John?”

The smile was gone now, replaced by confusion. Shepard was off duty; even staying up to work on the endless pile of reports, there was no way the man was still working. One hand caught at his collar, loosening the shirt further.

“John.”

Kaidan paused. He’d heard something. Kaidan turned and walked back up the stairs, gait uneven with just one boot on. He huffed, pausing to yank the offending article off his foot, tossing it against the wall with the fish tank.

“Hey, you in there?”

Kaidan palmed the door open, revived grin dying as soon as it appeared.

_“John!”_

Three steps had him at Shepard’s side. Kaidan dropped to his knees, hands fluttering like they hadn’t since medic training. John’s face was a mess. He was bleeding freely from where the skin had been…dislodged. He didn’t seem to have registered Kaidan’s arrival, staring blankly ahead. Running a hand over Shepard’s trembling arm, Kaidan’s eyes stopped on the small knife clutched in his fist.

Gently, Kaidan pried John’s hand open, the knife sliding through his fingers to clatter on the floor. Kaidan knocked it away before turning to John’s face. The younger man didn’t resist as Kaidan turned his head, eyes still unfocused. Kaidan tried to process the damage, to think about this like the triage situation it was. The blood had run down Shepard’s face, staining his neck and pooling at his collar bone. There was some on his hands and arms, but he didn’t see any accompanying cuts.

“John, what happened?” Looking back at the man, Kaidan tried again. “Hey, answer me.” His voice was starting to shake. “John!”

A slow blink, like he’d forgotten how. John pulled a deep breath, gaze trailing over Kaidan’s face until he found worried, brown eyes. Another slow blink. Another breath. “Kaidan.”

“What happened?” He couldn’t keep the pleading out of his voice. His chest felt tight as his focus left him, fear and panic crowding each other out as he tried to process the injuries. The medic in him was losing the fight to stay in control. “Talk to me.”

John lifted a hand, reaching to touch Kaidan’s face, then stopped short. Kaidan stared at the hand inches in front of him. It was covered in blood, dark red caked under John’s nails. Like he’d been scratching or digging. It took an effort of will to look back at John’s face. The gaze was still absent, but John recognized him now.

“John…”

“You should go.”

Kaidan flinched, pulling his hands away. “Go?”

“I had to know.” John’s voice was soft, distracted. He looked down at his knees, hand dropping to his chest. The dimmed light in the bathroom deepened the shadows, highlighting the angry glowing lines that marked John’s skin. Slowly, almost soothingly, John smeared blood over one of the lines that bisected the skin near his elbow.

“Know what?” Kaidan’s voice was shaking now. “What could you possibly…how could you…did you do this?” It was a stupid question – he’d taken the knife from John himself.

“I needed to know what Cerberus built. If I’m really me.” John was absently running his hand over his chest now. “Had to know what Cerberus brought back.”

“They brought back you!” Kaidan stopped himself, forcing down the urge to raise his voice. Deep breaths through the mouth, don’t focus on the smell of iron. Keep the person talking, reassure them no matter the severity of the situation. “John, they saved you.”

John was shaking his head. “No.” His head lolled to one side, the ghost of a smile amidst the grisly features. As if he felt sorry for someone. “They didn’t. They tried, but they weren’t that good. The seams won’t stay closed.” His fingers trailed through the still wet blood collected at his collarbone, smearing it downward as John ran his hand back across his chest.

“What seams?” Reaching out, Kaidan felt his gorge rise as he prodded the flaps of skin folded back on John’s cheek. John’s hand was still moving, tracing one of the ugly glowing lines that had worsened with the stress of the war.

“Marks of the dead,” John murmured.

He dropped his hand to his lap and Kaidan focused on the shape of the scar. Reaching out to touch the glowing Y, Kaidan froze at the sight of his own hand, now red from his attempts to help. He rubbed his fingers together, smearing John’s blood further.

A dark hand caught his own by the wrist. John was looking at him with unfocused concern. “Kaidan, what’s wrong?”

Swallowing hard, Kaidan forced the words out as John folded his hands around Kaidan’s shaking one. “EDI, get Chakwas up here.” The sob escaped, masquerading as a hiccup, and John looked at him with wide, worried blue eyes. “Now.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first two chapters contain graphic depictions of self-harm and a severe mental breakdown. The story in general contains discussions of self-harm, suicide, and depression.

“Ow.” Chakwas jerked awake, grabbing at her wrist. It stung, as if from an electric shock. The light from her omni-tool had faded, leaving her to blink at the afterimage. “What -“

“Apologies, Doctor. I did not want to wake the crew.” EDI’s voice was soft, coming from the speaker in her omni-tool. “Your presence is required in Shepard’s cabin immediately.”

Chakwas sat up, pushing past sleep like they’d drilled at medical school. Middle of the night in the CO’s quarters - she doubted the boys suddenly wanted to review the ways and means of safe sex. Chakwas slipped on her boots and grabbed the first shirt she could reach. “What happened?”

“It would be better to discuss this outside of the crew quarters.”

Checking around the dim room, it looked like everyone else was still sleeping. Soft footsteps took her to the door, the hiss sounding loud at this late hour. Peeking outside, she checked for anyone in the hall before stepping out and walking quickly toward the MedBay.

Shoving her hair behind her ears, Chakwas reviewed the layout of the Captain’s Cabin as her legs ate up the distance. Not likely to be anything ship related - structural damage would bring louder alarms and several engineers. If Shepard had fallen and hit his head, likely EDI would just have woken Kaidan. Bad enough to need her, but somebody wanted it kept quiet. “EDI, what happened?”

“Shepard is injured. Major Alenko is with him, but your assistance is requested.”

“How did Shepard get injured in his cabin?” EDI didn’t respond. The MedBay doors hissed open, the lights brightening as Chakwas walked in. “EDI, I won’t be much help if I don’t know -”

“Shepard injured himself. Facial abrasions and corresponding blood loss.” EDI’s voice carried the same calm, cool tone it always did. No pesky organic limbic system to cloud the issue. “It seems he did not restrict himself to the use of his hands this time.”

Chakwas forced a deep breath, holding it as she counted backwards. “You said Major Alenko is with him?”

“Correct.”

The basic medkit would have most of what she needed. Setting the bag on her desk, Chakwas grabbed a pack of additional sedatives from the cabinet – Cerberus didn’t build their soldiers to go down easy. She ran her hand over the contents of the bag, reviewing the various military upgrades unique to Shepard, double-checking that she could counter them if needed. “Has this happened before? Since he handed himself over to the Alliance, I mean?”

“Unknown. Since Shepard has been back on the SR2, there has been no indication of a repeat incident. I can check Alliance medical records or ask Lt. Vega.”

“Don’t wake the lieutenant. There would be a record if Commander Shepard had tried such a thing in Alliance custody.” Supplies gathered, Chakwas set the lights to dim as she left. “What’s Kaidan doing?”

If she hadn’t worked with the AI, she might have missed the concern at the edges of that professional voice. “The Major is assessing the damage, but he appears to be struggling with the situation.”

“Not surprising,” Chakwas murmured.

The elevator was empty, just her and the gentle hum as it moved upward.

Readjusting her hold on the medkit, Chakwas stepped out, passing through the antechamber and the already open door.

“EDI?”

“Bathroom.”

Walking past the desk, Chakwas paused in the doorway. Alenko was kneeling beside Shepard, face pale as he focused on trying to do something with Shepard’s damaged face. The Commander was muttering something, tapping Alenko’s wrist as if to make a point.

“Gentlemen.” They both looked up. Kaidan’s breath hitched as he relinquished his medical authority. Shepard stared at her, recognition taking a moment, then refocused on the man beside him. “We couldn’t have done this at a civilized time of day?”

“Doc, Kaidan’s bleeding.” Shepard’s hand wrapped around the wrist he’d been tapping. “It looks bad.”

Chakwas gave Alenko a severe look. “Major, are you injured?”

“No, ma’am. It’s not my blood.” Formal, but not contained. Poor man must be aching on the inside, even as his voice shook so his hands wouldn’t. She turned back to Shepard.

“I’ll look at Kaidan after I check on you, Commander.”

“But –“

“You are more critically injured, therefore you take precedence.”

Shepard looked unhappy but held his tongue. He turned to Kaidan, raising a hand coated in dried blood to brush his cheek. His voice was calm, reassuring. “Breathe, Major. You’ll be alright.”

Alenko nodded, focusing on maintaining his hold on the Commander’s cheek and jaw.

Stepping into the bathroom, Chakwas knelt next to Shepard’s leg. “Major, I need to see the extent of the injuries.” When the hands didn’t move, Chakwas softened her tone. “Kaidan, I can’t heal what I can’t see.”

Kaidan slowly pulled his hands away. Flaps of skin clung to his left hand where the blood had already started to clot, popping loose as he moved. Shepard winced, eyes scrunched shut at the moment of pain.

“Kaidan, go wash your hands. Fetch clean clothes for you and Shepard.”

Having been relieved of his medical duty, it took Kaidan a moment to reorient. Alenko stood, moving to the sink. Something rattled across the floor where his foot knocked it out of the way.

Chakwas focused back on Shepard, who was watching her intently.

“You’re going to yell at me.” He sounded almost lucid.

“No,” Chakwas replied, tone professional as she set her bag on the floor, “I’m going to leave that to Tali.”

Shepard winced, again. “Do we have to tell Tali?”

“Yes, we do.” Chakwas pulled up her omni-tool and set it to scan. “Close your eyes so I can see what you’ve done.”

Shepard closed his eyes. The orange light played over his face, making things look even worse. For all the blood, he’d stayed on his face this time as well and head wounds were notorious for excessive bleeding. The blood trailed down Shepard’s neck and onto his chest. There were angry red welts, she presumed from his nails, that radiated out from the awful Y scar. No real damage to his torso, though.

Shepard’s face, though. Last time he’d only succeeded in cosmetic damage, scratching at the scars with blunt nails and emotional distress. This time, it looked like Shepard had found something to help him – probably whatever Alenko had kicked on his way to the sink.

Ever since he’d woken up, Shepard had had that line on his chin. Chakwas didn’t know why that scar seemed determined to stay visible, but it always was. Shepard had again succeeded in getting something jammed in there, then pulled upward as he worked along the scar. She could see a spot of white where he’d reached bone. It didn’t seem wise to point out it would have been more productive to pull down on that particular bit of skin.

Above his right eye were shallow cuts, as though Shepard couldn’t get the tool into the scar properly and decided to damage the skin however he could. His left eye looked out of place – a patch of undamaged skin on a face mostly old blood brown. But his left cheek had streaks of the dried blood on it, roughly shaped like fingers.

His left cheek had taken the worst of it. Whatever Shepard had used, it looked like he’d started by stabbing, jamming it in as deep as it would go. Having achieved that, there was mercifully little damaged muscle - Shepard had been pulling at the skin itself. Once he’d gotten it loose, she guessed he’d switched to using his hands. The skin had torn unevenly where he’d yanked at it, leaving strips of flesh hanging loose.

“Open your eyes and show me your hands.” Shepard did, holding them out palms up. Chakwas ran her fingers over them, rotating the hands to make sure. “I don’t see any damage. Just your face, then, plus these scratches on your chest?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me, John Shepard. You were not to do this, again. What did you hope to achieve?”

The sound of rushing water stopped.

“I had to know.”

“You said that last time.”

“Last time?” Kaidan was staring at Chakwas, hand resetting on the handle where he’d shut off the water. His gaze moved to Shepard, sweeping over the man, searching for older marks. She could see the beginning of guilt take hold, weaving itself into Kaidan’s thoughts as stood, frozen at the implications. “Last time?” he repeated.

“Cerberus was hard on everyone,” Chakwas said, giving Shepard a look. “Some people had unhealthy ways of coping with that stress.”

“I died.”

“I was there.” Her tone was clipped, cold. “The irony that you were the only one not at your funeral has not been overlooked.”

Shepard had the nerve to look apologetic. “But that’s the point – I should have been there. Should have been in that box, or whatever the Alliance does for their retrievable dead.”

“Don’t say that.” Kaidan’s voice was quiet. Chakwas was reminded of a young lieutenant, military stance faltering as Captain Anderson relayed the news, voice just as quiet. The same young lieutenant who stood next to a grave marker, clutching a folded rectangle of fabric to his chest, silent as hope died.

“But Liara gave me to Cerberus, and they did something. Pulled me back.”

Chakwas was digging through the medkit for antiseptic, the cold of the hard floor making her knees ache. “This next bit will hurt.”

“You can’t bring back the dead, Doc, so what am I?” Shepard prodded at a small glowing patch on his arm. “Living people heal, right? Scars heal— that’s what scars are— proof of healing.”

Chakwas popped the top off the little bottle. “Close your eyes— I’m going to spray this on your face to stop infection.”

Shepard closed his eyes, again. “But the scars aren’t healing. Sometimes, they get worse.”

“Kaidan, those clean clothes?” She caught the uncoordinated movement in her peripheral vision. Chakwas kept her attention forward as Kaidan stumbled out of the room, pretending she couldn’t hear the caught breath as he passed. “Shepard, close your mouth.”

The sounds of drawers being opened almost drowned out the hiss of the spray. Shepard did his best not to wiggle, nose scrunched up with the effort. She’d never before hoped medicine would hurt.

“You can open your eyes now.”

“Please don’t tell Tali. She’ll be so upset.”

“You should have thought of her before you tried to peel off your face.” Dropping the used spray back in the medkit, she retrieved a package of sterile wipes. “I’m going to clean you up, try to get that blood off your face.”

“I wasn’t thinking about her. Kaidan doesn’t trust Cerberus.”

Chakwas snorted. “Few people do.”

Shepard nodded. “I need to know what I am, for me, but for him, too.”

She gripped Shepard’s chin to avoid touching the injured part of his jaw and started on his forehead with the wipes. “Did you talk to Kaidan about this?”

“No.” Shepard exhaled, focus slipping again. “It was…I was planning on brushing my teeth.”

“Let this be a lesson to you on the importance of sticking to a plan.” The words were angry, but she kept them quiet. “Damnit, Shepard, how could you?”

Shepard looked at her, long enough she thought maybe he hadn’t heard. “I love him.”

“A hell of a way to show it.”

Shepard pressed on. “I do. So much. And if I’m just some weird doll sewn back together and battery powered, I need to know. I have to…to do the right thing, and I can’t do that when I don’t have all the information.”

“A doll?” She could hear the disbelief in her own voice.

Shepard was nodding. “They don’t heal, so they can’t be scars. But they could be seams,” Shepard tapped the Y on his chest, “where the edges didn’t quite line up.”

“Those are surgical scars,” Chakwas said, as forcefully as she could. “They cracked your chest open to fix or replace parts because you fell through the damn atmosphere of a planet.” She’d seen the scans, read the files; she knew what Miranda Lawson had started with. Far more concerning than any organ transplant had been the missing limb, now bumping gently against her ankle.

Shepard nodded, again. “And then sewed me back up.”

“I sew people up, Shepard. That doesn’t change what they are.” Chakwas swiped down Shepard’s nose before moving onto his uninjured cheek.

“Scars also don’t glow.” Shepard grinned at her, voice sardonic. “I’m my own night light.”

Chakwas could hear footsteps behind her. “No talking. I need to clean this other cheek.”

This time there was squirming. Shepard jerked as she tried to clean the skin, but he’d done more damage than she’d thought. After catching the wipe on a piece of loose skin, Shepard yanked himself sideways, clutching a hand over his cheek. “Stop that.”

“I have to clean it.”

A pile of clothes dropped to the floor nearby. “Let her work, John.”

Shepard scowled up at Kaidan. “But it hurts.”

Kaidan sat. He looked small, the Major replaced by a distressed lover. “John, please.”

“You should probably call me Shepard.” Sitting back up and looking warily at Chakwas, Shepard huffed. “Pretty sure John died.”

“Stop it,” Kaidan snapped, “just stop it.” He ran a hand through his hair, breathing through his nose. “I never want to hear that, again. Not about you.”

“Major, I need -“

Kaidan ignored her, focused on Shepard. His voice broke as he continued. “You’re alive. You survived. You came back.” Kaidan pushed the heel of his hand against one eye, breath hitching. “Cerberus did one good thing. _You_ came back.”

Chakwas waited, watching the two men in front of her. There wasn’t anything in her medkit for this.

Finally, Shepard leaned forward, touching Kaidan’s arm. “Come here.”

“Doc needs to finish with you.”

“Major, come here.” It was almost Shepard’s field voice. And then, softer, “please.”

Still looking down, Kaidan moved closer. Shepard tucked the biotic into his side, running his fingers through Kaidan’s hair.

“Stay with me, OK? Dr. Chakwas is great – she can finish with me no matter where you sit.”

Kaidan caught the hand that was on his shoulder, knees pulled up to his chest.

Shepard looked back at her. “No more wipes?”

“Just one more.”

It took the better part of a half hour to get Shepard’s face cleaned and patched up. He’d done his best to hold still while she worked on his chin, but again his cheek proved too much. Chakwas pulled the first pack of sedatives out, administering the standard dose in place of a painkiller. Shepard had made a face, gripping Kaidan’s hand tightly for a moment. But it worked, and the painstaking process of lining Shepard’s skin back up so it would heal properly began.

Medical bandages were designed to mimic the skin of the person wearing them, though they rarely managed it. Still, Shepard looked less like he’d lost a fight with a varren and more like he’d just fallen off the MAKO. As she wiped down the marks on his chest, Shepard’s head drooped onto Kaidan’s. The Major’s eyes were closed, but his breathing was even once more.

“That’s everything I can do tonight,” Chakwas said, collecting supplies back into the medkit. “Shepard, wash your hands and go straight to bed.”

Shepard’s voice was soft, slurred slightly from the drugs. “What about Kaidan?”

“ _Kaidan_ needs you to go to bed, where he can keep an eye on you and get some rest himself.”

“You think that’s all he needs?” Shepard was blinking more often now, lids reluctant to rise.

“Sleep will help the both of you.” Chakwas stood. She held out her hands to Shepard. “Up, Commander.”

Kaidan shrugged off Shepard’s arm and stood. Grabbing one arm while Chakwas took the other, they both pulled Shepard to his feet.

“You need to wash your hands, Commander. They’re filthy.”

Shepard nodded, yawning. He walked over to the sink, knocking the handle up with his knuckles as the water turned crimson under his other hand. Kaidan watched him for a moment before turning to the pile of clothing. Muscle memory took over as Alenko stripped out of his uniform, fetching a clean t-shirt from the floor. He stood there, holding a pair of pants Chakwas assumed were Shepard’s. “John?”

“Hm?” Shepard was playing with the water, running clear now.

“Bedtime.”

Shutting off the sink, Shepard leaned against the counter and pulled off one boot. Chakwas picked up the medkit and stepped out of the bathroom. She walked past the fish, down the stairs, past the seating area, setting the medkit on the smaller desk beside the couch. She could hear the two men talking, the cadence of conversation altered by emotions and exhaustion and medication.

She pulled down the blankets on the bed. The Alliance had removed the window cover, leaving the stars beautiful overhead. Chakwas made a note to have Tali come rebuild it – if Shepard was panicking over his scars, it was doubtful he’d made peace with the night sky.

The sound of a collision caught her attention. One or the other of them had miscounted the two steps, bumping into the wall on their way down. Kaidan had Shepard’s arm around his shoulder and was steering them toward the far side of the bed.

“Anything I can do?”

“I think we’re good, Doc.” Kaidan released his hold on Shepard, depositing the other man on the bed. Shepard’s arm shot out, lightning fast despite the sedative, grabbing onto Kaidan’s shirt.

“Stay.”

“I’m right here.” Kaidan nudged Shepard’s legs up onto the bed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“If I may?” Chakwas held up a syringe. “His implants process the sedative faster than normal, and I think you could both use the rest.”

Kaidan nodded and stepped back. Shepard kept his focus on Kaidan while Chakwas administered the sedative, pressing the needle into Shepard’s elbow with efficient movements.

Standing, she bid her boys goodnight. She collected the medkit from the desk, pausing on the steps to watch as Kaidan laid down, John rolling over to sleep almost on top of him. They’d both be out cold before she made it to the elevator.


	3. Chapter 3

“I know we’re not supposed to, but sometimes I miss working for Cerberus.” Kenneth was face down on the counter, voice muted by the cool surface. “They had better coffee.”

Gabbi watched the dark liquid drip through the machine, collecting in the pot underneath. She couldn’t be certain, but she’d thought she’d heard the beeping sound of an omni-tool alert when she was falling asleep last night. Not a great sound for the middle of the night.

“It’s not like there were little breakfast pastries – that’s too civilian even for ex-military. But there was tea for Yeoman Chambers, and hot chocolate for that lass who kept the Hammerhead running after the Commander brought it back from Alchera.”

“Zeona.”

“What?”

“We picked up the Hammerhead on Zeona,” Gabbi said, voice dry at the repeated reminder. She twitched as the machine chirped to announce coffee. “Alchera was where the SR1 got blown up.”

“Oh.” Kenneth sounded like he’d lifted his face off the counter. “Probably shouldn’t get those mixed up.”

“Not with the number of people on this ship who were on the SR1.” It was a different kind of crew, held together not by assignment or cause, but by the man in charge. It was fascinating, watching the newbie Alliance soldiers slowly making the same shift in loyalty that the Cerberus crew had eighteen months prior.

“Oh…shite.”

Fetching two mugs from the cabinet above the coffee machine, Gabbi took a breath. “Hey, Kenneth?” A grunt. “Did you…hear anything odd last night?” She didn’t turn to look, fussing with the coffee utensils so he wouldn’t read too much into things.

“What kind of anything odd?”

“Beeps? Something electronic? Maybe someone talking?”

“What, you think EDI was in the crew quarters?”

Gabbi sighed and poured the coffee. So much for his reading into things. “Forget it. You couldn’t hear anything over your snoring, anyway.”

“Hey!”

Dropping four sugars cubes into the second cup, Gabbi held it out. “I just thought I heard something last night. But waking anyone on the SR2 in the middle of the night, in the middle of a war, would be a bad thing.”

Kenneth took the cup, voice quiet. “Aye, it would.” He lifted the mug, taking a long sip. “Ah. Just about bearable.”

Gabbi shook her head at her friend. “Kenneth, the Alliance does pay us. Why don’t you ask Cortez to get you some coffee you actually like?”

“He’s got more important jobs,” Kenneth said into his mug, voice once again muffled.

“More important than keeping engineering in a good mood?”

“Adams will never abandon his post, no matter how bad the morning swill.”

Gabbi’s response was interrupted by movement over Kenneth’s shoulder. The lights of the MedBay came up with movement inside, revealing Dr. Chakwas sliding off one of the beds. She was still in her pajamas, with her uniform coat thrown over top. Gabbi watched her for a moment, then turned to fetch a third mug.

Kenneth raised his eyebrows, looking between the new mug and Gabbi. “We testing my theory about Adams?”

“No.”

He watched her fill another cup and add only one sugar this time, thumb running back and forth on the lip of his own mug. “Do I get to know why I’m telling Adams you’re late?”

“No.”

Kenneth nodded, finishing his coffee. “Fine, I’ll say you were doing your hair.”

Gabbi rolled her eyes. “You do that, Kenneth. I’ll be down shortly.” She picked up the two mugs and walked around the island, tone shifting dangerously close to reproach. “Don’t forget you need to recalibrate the –“

“I know, I know.”

“And wash your mug.”

Kenneth scowled, voice petulant. “I’m telling Adams you overslept.”

Dr. Chakwas was standing at her desk when the MedBay doors hissed open. The medkit in front of her had been dumped out, and she was sorting what needed to be replaced from what was still usable. “Hello, Gabriella.”

“Morning, Doctor.” Gabbi walked over to the desk, holding out the mug. “You’re up early.”

“Just underdressed.” Dr. Chakwas looked down at her outfit. “I suppose I have the dubious honor of a walk of shame.”

“Everything OK?”

Chakwas looked at her then, faint smudges under her eyes. Tucking her hair behind one ear, she studied Gabbi, voice still light, if a bit more professional. “Because I’m not dressed?”

“Because you slept in the MedBay,” Gabbi answered, gesturing to the bed behind them. “Because you look like ‘slept’ is being generous. Because,” she hesitated, “because somebody was woken up in the middle of the night last night.”

“Observant as ever, Engineer Daniels.” Chakwas took the proffered coffee. “Who else knows?”

“I asked Kenneth about it, but he sleeps like the dead.”

“Well, it’ll come out sooner or later.” A long pull from the mug, followed by a small frown. “I’m going to ask Lt. Cortez to get us better coffee – war or not, this is asking too much.”

Gabbi saluted with her own bitter cup. “We’ll start a donation fund.”

Chakwas leaned against the desk and sighed. “I was needed last night. The stress of this war is getting to everyone. Sometimes, it gets to them at inopportune times.”

“Better the middle of the night than the middle of a fight.”

“Indeed.” Chakwas rotated the mug in her hands. “It will take a while, but our crew member will be fine. They just need some rest and a stern talking to, I think.” She set her mug down on her desk. “How are you holding up?”

Gabbi gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I have Kenneth; it’s a fulltime job, keeping track of him. No energy left over to worry about the Reapers finding the Normandy and taking us all hostage, again. Turning us into those…things.”

Chakwas stepped forward and put an arm around Gabbi’s shoulders, voice dropping into a compassionate murmur. “Sometimes I forget I’m not the only one on this ship who got taken.” She gave Gabbi a gentle squeeze, a not-quite hug. “I’m here, if either of you needs to talk.”

“Kenneth won’t talk.”

“Give him time,” Chakwas said kindly. Then, with a shadow of steel, “if that doesn’t work, sit on him.”

Gabbi laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now,” Chakwas said, tone formal as she released Gabbi and stepped away, “I need to get back in uniform before I earn a formal reprimand, and I believe you are late for your shift.”

“Yes, Doctor. Have a…better day.”

“You, too, Gabriella.” A pause. “If you see Tali, can you send her up, please?”

Gabbi nodded, posture straightening into that Alliance-honed poise. “Yes, ma’am.”

Stepping out of the MedBay, Gabbi drained her mug as she headed back across to the kitchen. She washed it, then rewashed Kenneth’s to be sure all the sugar was out, and left them both on the drying rack. Shooting one last look at their doctor, she made her way down to Engineering, pushing everything not about the engine and the weird shield fluctuations out of her mind.

* * *

Garrus was perched on the edge of the bed, mandibles giving away his curiosity. That sniper calm had gotten him through more fights than his opponents, but it wasn’t going to outlast the look on Chakwas’ face. She had those dark spots under her eyes that he was pretty sure humans got when they were too tired. He tried to remember if they’d been there yesterday.

He was certain he hadn’t seen her putter before. Shuffling pads on her desk, double-checking the medkit she’d been refilling when he’d walked in, tapping at something on the nearest terminal.

“Want to talk about it, Doctor?”

“Tali will be here shortly, I’m sure.”

On cue, Tali appeared through the MedBay window. Garrus squashed the happy feeling at the sight of her – this was serious, however glad he was to have Tali back on the ship. And something that he and Tali needed to be informed of, but not Liara or Kaidan. Or Shepard himself, for that matter. Tension slithered along his limbs, clenching his gut; this had happened once before, but it had been the other way around. Chakwas unaware, Tali distracted, and himself, feeling useless.

The MedBay door hissed open, distracting Chakwas from her most recent organization of the datapads. Tali looked between the two of them, taking in Chakwas’ wilted stance and Garrus’ too-casual posture. Like the veteran she was though, she didn’t assume anything, keeping it light. “Gabbi said you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, both of you.”

Tali tilted her head at Garrus. “Something wrong with the dextro food supply?”

Just like Tali to be problem-solving already. She’d be a great Admiral when she finally got to do the job properly, not just worry about the damn Reapers.

“No, there’s nothing wrong with our food stores.” Chakwas closed her medkit and turned to face the both of them, Garrus by the bed and Tali still nearer the door. It was never a good sign, tht bracing deep breath. “This is about Shepard.”

“As opposed to most days where we can just ignore him,” Garrus supplied, nerves coming out as laconic apathy.

He couldn’t see Tali’s face, but he guessed it matched Chakwas’ glare of disapproval. Garrus stopped leaning on the bed, coughing apologetically into his collar.

“Sorry.”

“What about Shepard, Doctor?” Tali asked, turning to face Chakwas so Garrus could be certain how much trouble his comment had landed him in. “I saw him yesterday – he seemed fine. A little tense, but I can’t remember the last time any of us wasn’t.”

“I’ve been on late shift for the past week, so I haven’t seen much of our Commander,” Garrus offered, “but he seemed like Shepard when we did talk.”

“The Commander has always been good at putting up a front,” Chakwas agreed. “But that doesn’t make him alright.” She paused, struggling against the words. “Shepard…tried again. To see what Cerberus did to him.”

Garrus felt Tali stiffen from two meters away, as if she’d tightened the armor he was wearing. The ghosts that had been haunting him earlier solidified into memories, panic and confusions and cries. Tali, voice dangerously soft, asked, “what do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Chakwas exhaled, frustration and fear giving a slight edge to her voice. The doctor took another deep breath, eyes closed. “You know…what I mean, Tali.”

“Where is he?”

“Tali –“

“No, Garrus. He promised!”

“He didn’t, actually.” Garrus didn’t know why he was throwing himself into the line of fire like this, except that Shepard had always had his back, no matter how stupid or reckless he’d been. Stepping away from the bed, Garrus pulled Tali’s focus, voice even as he dragged up that terrible night. “We knocked him out and yelled at him. Had the Doctor here check him over. Did we ever actually talk to Shepard about all this?”

“I did!” Tali waved her arms around in her anger. “He said he wouldn’t do this, again! He said it was just too much too soon! Mortality and amnesia and damned Cerberus!”

“Those things haven’t gone away,” Chakwas interrupted, quiet but clear. “All of us could die any day, in horrible ways, and whatever Cerberus did to him, we’re still guessing.”

“Haven’t you scanned Sherpard?” Garrus asked.

“Many times, but that doesn’t tell me how they brought him back.” Chakwas tapped at her omni-tool, bringing up a file. “Everything I have on Shepard says he should have been too badly injured to be saved. Should have been dead before he hit the atmosphere on Alchera, let alone after he made it to the ground. I can’t explain it, and so far nobody from Cerberus is handing out files.”

“We should call Miranda,” Garrus suggested. “Ex-Cerberus or not, she must remember –“

Tali had been still, frustration and hurt vibrating through her until it couldn’t be contained. With the volume and force of a shrapnel grenade, she exploded. “Where is he!” Arms waving, Tali paced a tight little line. “When can I start yelling? How do you know he’s hurt? How bad is it?”

“He’s upstairs,” Chakwas answered. “Kaidan’s with him.”

“Does he know?”

“That Shepard’s injured?” Chakwas cocked an eyebrow. “He’s the one who found him.”

“I’m sealing that bathroom,” Tali muttered darkly, coming to a stop. “Or painting it a bright color. It’s a dark hole that kills hope.”

“I think maybe the bathroom isn’t the thing driving Shepard to be the security threat on his own ship,” Garrus said. “But I suppose a nice purple couldn’t hurt.”

“Shepard’s upstairs?” Tali asked. She was already moving toward the door. “You’re sure?”

“He’s asleep Tali. You’ll only wake Kaidan if you barge in there shouting right now.”

Tali stopped. It would always be impressive that she could glare with a face plate. “I can try.”

“I gave him enough sedatives to take down a horse,” Chakwas argued. “Give it till dinner, at least.”

“Plenty of time for Tali to organize her anger,” Garrus muttered.

Tali jabbed a finger in his direction before turning back to the doctor. “What about Kaidan? Does he know about last time?”

“He knows there was a last time, but nothing about it,” Chakwas answered. “If you’re going up to explain things, bring some tea with you. You won’t get him to eat, but Kaidan could use the sugar I’ll be adding.”

They followed Chakwas out of the MedBay, conversation dying at the sight of other crew members milling about. The doctor moved around the kitchen area, setting water to heat and pulling down mugs while Tali leaned on the counter and muttered to herself.

“Stupid, idiotic, insensitive Bosh’tet. I should hide his armor so the next mission, _he’ll_ have to stay on the ship and worry. Or submit three dozen forms with _tiny_ inaccuracies, so he’ll get paranoid about how many he signed before he noticed something was wrong.”

“Doctor,” Garrus asked, pitching his voice low, “how bad is it? Can Shep…can he even go on the next mission?”

“When is the next mission?” Chakwas asked, selecting a tea bag from the container on the counter. She cocked an eyebrow at him as the water burbled in the kettle next to her. “He’s not going anywhere today.”

“I’d have to check, but I don’t think we’re scheduled for anything for the next week.” Garrus ran an eye over the humans – nobody seemed to be listening. “But things happen.”

“If they happen, you will be taking James.”

Garrus leaned on the counter, his usual pose for chatting with crew members; just in case. “For the next week?”

“Yes.”

Whatever pain Shepard had been in before the sedatives kicked in, he was going to look back on it fondly when he woke up. “I suppose…I should go talk to our lieutenant? Let him know?”

“If you think that’s wise,” Chakwas said absently. “I don’t know what you’d tell him. It’s probably more important to tell Traynor to hold all calls.”

“Kaidan can talk to Hackett.”

“You’ll have better luck getting Kalros to let go of that Reaper than you will getting the Major out of that room.” Pouring water into the mugs, Chakwas added one tea bag each, followed by a concerning amount of sugar. The routine, almost mindless motions belied the tension of their discussion.

Tali was still muttering. Garrus felt his mandibles flare, but said nothing.

Turning around, Chakwas placed a tray on the island. “Tali, breathe. If Kaidan is asleep, leave him be.”

“And if he’s not?”

“Be gentle.” Chakwas smiled, tiredness in every line of her face. “He didn’t hurt Shepard, and being here last time doesn’t mean we’re the only ones upset now.”

“I get to yell first,” Tali said, all stubbornness. “He _promised_.”

“Somehow,” Chakwas said, pushing the tray forward. “I think Kaidan won’t fight you on that.”


End file.
